


ASOIAF Ficlets

by madaboutasoiaf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Tumblr Prompt, actually most are probably angst, even when I don't mean for them to be, some are angst, some are fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 7,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madaboutasoiaf/pseuds/madaboutasoiaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets originally posted on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hot Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: comfort food

Hot Pie liked it at the inn, even if Sharna only ever called him boy. He didn’t have to ride a horse so his arse no longer hurt and he slept in a bed and didn’t get rained on. Best of all he baked.

“This is how you make good bread,” he told Husband.

Husband didn’t like that. He scowled and even when the bread was cooling and it had risen well and was golden and not burned at all he did not look impressed. He only snorted.

“I suppose it will do. Saves me having to make it.”

People liked Hot Pie’s bread. They were always coming to the inn and they ordered stew and the bread went well with the stew. Hot Pie worked hard, kneading the dough and letting it rise and cooking it and watching as people tore it apart and ate it. They gave little praise but that didn’t matter. Hot Pie knew it was good even if nobody said.

He wasn’t a fighter but baking he could do.

“It’s comfort food,” was the highest praise he got. The man was a large man and he ordered extra and paid well for it. He wanted the bread as much as the stew and he smiled when Hot Pie brought it out.

Comfort food.

Hot Pie supposed that was right. It did seem to comfort people to eat it. They scowled less with a full belly even if they still scowled. It comforted Hot Pie to make it too. He missed making tarts but sometimes he made pies and when he was baking everything seemed a little less bad than it actually was.


	2. Arya and Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: How Dare You

“How dare you!”

Sansa’s voice is shrill and she sounds angry. Arya pauses with the other snowball still in her hand, then takes a couple of defensive steps backwards. Things had been better, not like when they were girls. They still fought, they still got angry but things were better now. A little snow couldn’t ruin it. Arya had been certain they had moved on enough to allow that.

She glances at her sister. The snowball had hit Sansa square in the chest. The snow was melting in Arya’s hand so she is not surprised that there is a damp patch on the front of Sansa’s gown. Sansa is wiping at it, her brows knitted together in a frown and from somewhere nearby Rickon giggles.

“It’s not funny,” Sansa says.

It is then that Arya sees the corners of Sansa’s mouth quirk, and Arya sees her sister begin to move and thinks quickly whether to throw the snowball or drop it. Sansa won’t get her, Arya is too quick but the snow is too melted and she drops it and begins to run.

“It got in my gown,” Sansa says breathlessly behind her. “You’ll be sorry when I catch you.”

“You won’t catch me stupid,” Arya says boldly.

Rickon is laughing again and he steps in her path and Arya darts around him. She hears Sansa begin to laugh too and it is familiar, and it feels good after all the pain to finally be able to act like children once again.


	3. Arya and Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: don't leave

She wanted to be the night wolf. That was what she was thinking about when she closed her eyes to sleep. She wanted to be with her pack, surrounded by her small cousins who would never leave her. With them she was strong and nothing could hurt her.

“Little sister.”

Jon was smiling at her. She could feel her heart swell, no longer just a hole and tears were in her eyes.

“I missed you.”

He looked the same, even though she was older. He was still smiling and she didn’t need to tilt her head so much to look at him.

“I want to stay with you.”

He messed her hair and she let him. She didn’t smack him because this was all she had wanted. She reached for him, but he was too far away to touch. That didn’t make sense. If he could touch her, she should be able to touch him. She wanted to hug him but when she tried, he just seemed further away.

“Don’t leave,” she pleaded.

“Stick them with the pointy end.”

It was faint, so faint she barely heard it and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want more sword lessons, she wanted _Jon_ but Jon was leaving her, just like everybody else had left. 

She opened her eyes to darkness and the hole was back.


	4. Lyanna and Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: a Lyanna survives AU where she realises Jon loves Arya as much as Brandon loved her and worries for her son

Lyanna has not seen him in years. She knows it is a risk to see him now but she would not miss this visit. He looks like her, even more now that he is almost a man. For that she is glad. He is not like her though, not at all and for that she is even gladder. He is like Ned, serious, quiet and with none of the wildness she and Brandon shared when they were young.

_He will not make our mistakes._

His smiles were rare but when he did smile, and in her direction too, it made her heart ache. He did not know her though, not as his mother. She was just his aunt and it might be necessary, it might be what Ned promised her but Lyanna hated it.

*

“I won’t,” Arya said sullenly. “They can’t make me.”

Lyanna did not mean to hear it. She had only wanted to go to the godswood, to be in the place she loved as a girl. She did not know her niece would be there. The girl was the age she had been when everything fell apart. She sounded so familiar, so like Lyanna. She even looked like Lyanna. It was like seeing into a looking glass and having her younger self look back, only Lyanna never lacked confidence the way Arya did.

“They can little sister,” Jon sighed.

He put his hand in Arya’s hair, making a mess of it and tears sprang to Lyanna’s eyes. Brandon used to do the very same thing after they rode together. Lyanna would swat him away, and tell him he was being stupid, just as Arya did now.

“I don’t love him,” Arya spat. “And he doesn’t love me. He just says he does to please father.”

Jon looked sour.

“He managed to do that.”

“You hate him,” Arya said suddenly. “I know you do. Can’t I go with you instead?”

Jon smiled.

“I’d take you with me if I could.”

Arya put her arm around him and looked up into his face.

“I don’t want to leave here. Winterfell is my home.”

Jon looked down at her and his expression sent a chill down Lyanna’s spine.

“I’ll never let anybody hurt you little sister.”

“You promise?”

Jon nodded, jaw set. Lyanna knew then she was wrong. There was Benjen in him, in the way he laughed but right now all she heard was Brandon. She wanted to warn him, to warn both of them of the cost of what a brother might do for his sister but then Arya was hugging Jon and Jon was laughing as she kissed his cheek and she couldn’t ruin their happy moment.

Lyanna had so few of those to remember now, all tainted by the way it had ended.

It did not stop her worrying, long after they had gone and she sat by the heart tree, looking into the pool.

_“I’ll never let anybody hurt you little sister.”_

She had laughed at Brandon.

_“You taught me better than that. I can fight for myself.”_

He had smiled at her and agreed. Lyanna had been so young, she had thought herself so wise. She had seen some truths, but not the worst of what men might do.

_“I’ll never let anybody hurt you little sister.”_

It had been the last thing he said to her, the last _real_ thing.

_Jon is too like Ned to end the same way._

That was the one hope she could cling to as she cried.


	5. Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Arya as a kind of Westerosi Santa... it diverged just a bit from the prompt

The sound of the sled filled her with terror and Darna began to run, not needing her mother’s urging. Everybody knew what that noise meant. Ever since winter came they knew to fear the sound, to know what it would bring. It was the sound of death, the sound of the white walkers and even worse their leader. He would make it forever cold, a land of always winter.

Darna had forgotten what warmth felt like already and her little sister had barely known it. Her mother cried out, cried out Keira’s name and Darna turned to see her sister had fallen to her knees in the snow.

_We’re not meant to make a sound._

Her mother had taught them both. If they made noise he would hear them and there would be no escape. There was little chance of escape anyway. Darna heard the growl of his beasts, the undead creatures that did his bidding and she knew they could smell the warmth of her blood, just like the stories said. She ran, took hold of her sister’s hand and tugged her along to hide behind a tree, their mother joining them, tears frozen and clinging to her eyelashes.

They waited, trying not to breathe but Darna could hear her heart thudding and she felt sure everybody else heard it too. The sound of the sled was gone, the growling lingered but then all fell silent. Darna looked to her mother. Her mother shook her head.

“He’s still there,” she whispered.

It was dark, always dark and Darna couldn’t see. She heard nothing though but the nothing was almost worse. She didn’t want to be tricked but time passed and the silence remained until the sky became as light as it ever was and even their mother began to look weary of hiding.

“Stay here,” she said sternly.

Darna did not want to but she could not disobey her mother. She put her arms around Keira and her sister trembled in her embrace.

“Mother won’t let him hurt us,” she said, trying to sound brave.

Her bravery fled when she heard her mother cry out and she held Keira tighter until she realised her mother did not sound afraid.

“Darna,” she called. “Keira, come and see.”

Darna stepped out from behind the tree and stared. It was like one of the stories come to life but not the scary ones, the good kind. Keira took a few steps forward, her eyes wide with wonder as she looked from Darna to her mother to the wolves and the young woman standing in the midst of them.

“I won’t hurt you,” the young woman said, gently.

“You’re a Stark,” Darna whispered, scarcely believing it.

They were all thought to be dead but word had begun to spread of strange happenings, of direwolves in the woods and their liege lords returning to save them from the darkness and the cold. The young woman smiled, her long face brightening. She closed her eyes and put her hand on the head of the huge wolf at her side. It stilled under her touch and when she opened her eyes they were grey, a dark grey.

“I’m Arya,” she said. “And I bring gifts.”

Keira ran forward, not seeming to mind the wolves at all. The gifts were coloured glass, pretty but sharp.

“Dragonglass,” Arya called it. “We are winning the war but this will help.”

Darna took it, but the food Arya produced meant far more. They had been hungry for so long.

“Go to the Winter town,” Arya urged. “You won’t be alone there and I will return.”

Her mother knelt in the snow but Arya seemed almost embarrassed by that. She smiled though, a kind smile and Darna clutched her coloured glass, treasuring it more now not just because of what it meant but who gave it.

“You’re a princess,” she whispered.

“Queen of the wolves,” her mother said softly.

“Thank you for the present,” Keira said in a solemn voice.

Arya’s smile faded and she touched the snow in her hair.

“I am hoping we can bring a better present soon.”

She held out her hand and Darna’s eyes widened. The snow was melting. It had not been warm enough for snow to melt in years.

“Is spring coming,” she asked in a hushed voice.

“It will,” Arya promised. “We just need to keep on fighting.”

“I’ll fight,” Darna promised.

Arya smiled again at that.

“I will see you again.”

She got back in her sled and Darna watched, wide eyed as the wolves took her away without her asking them to do a thing. The sled left tracks in the snow and for just an instant the sun shone through the clouds.


	6. Arya and wolf pups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: I need an AU where Nymeria has a litter and Arya is overexcited about them and the pups follow her everywhere and they undermine the effect when she is angry

Arya could be very intimidating when she wanted to be. Even Bran worried a little at first. He wasn’t scared of her or anything but she had a _pack_ of wolves. There were hundreds of them, savage and unafraid of men and Arya commanded them.

“Nobody will hurt us again,” she said fiercely when questioned about it. “My pack won’t let them.”

Bran wasn’t scared but others were and that was why he had to laugh when Nymeria whelped her first litter of pups. His fierce sister melted at the first sight of them.

“Look at the babies Bran,” she whispered.

She was covered in pups. They were in her lap if she sat, gnawing at any loose lacings. Nymeria was ever Arya’s shadow and wherever she went Arya now had extra shadows, small, fluffy things which tried to imitate their monstrously intimidating mother and failed miserably.

They even attended his councils, to his amusement and dismay. Arya sat by his side, his trusted councillor, commander of an army of wolves and with sound advice.

“My lord,” she said in an icy tone. “There have been reports of you sending men to interfere with people of the Stony Shore. The river is not yours. Leave the smallfolk be or you will not like the consequences.”

Lord Ryswell paled, no doubt horrified Arya knew. She had a way of knowing things but just then his sister’s glare gave way to a giggle and she squirmed in her seat.

“Stop that,” she hissed.

Those gathered looked confused but then people began to smile and Bran looked down to see a wolf pup latched onto Arya, pulling at the leg of her woolen pants. Arya scooped the pup up and into her lap and it whined and licked her hand.

“Behave,” she scolded it in an unconvincing manner.

“You heard my sister,” Bran told Lord Ryswell.

Lord Ryswell looked rather less shaken now but he nodded assent. Arya made another noise Bran knew to be stifled laughter and Bran sighed. He smiled at his sister. The pup was looking up into her face, begging attention and Arya was giving it. She might well scare people sometimes but right now she wasn’t fearsome at all.


	7. Starklings Winterfell future ficlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: the Starklings reminiscing about their adventures years after they have resettled back in Winterfell

Arya never liked to talk about her time away from Winterfell, of the time after their father was killed, even though it was years ago now. For that matter neither did Sansa. Rickon spoke of Skagos but that wasn’t the same, he had only been a baby when their parents died. It had touched him differently.

“I saw father,” Bran said quietly.

His sisters both tensed, it was barely noticeable but Bran still saw.

“It was in the cave,” he explained. “I saw him through the weirwood.”

They both relaxed but he still saw the pain in their eyes, Tully blue and Stark grey but alike in feeling for all their differences. Bran still wanted to speak of it. He did not like to dwell on what happened before the cave or during the war after but some of the things he saw they needed to know.

_We all need to think of them as they were and not how they ended._

“I wish I could see,” Arya said wistfully.

 _No you don’t,_ he thought. _You don’t want to know the things I’ve seen._

“Tell us of Father Bran,” Sansa said in a soft voice.

“He was smiling,” Bran said quickly.

Arya blinked, her expression unreadable and for a moment Bran thought he upset her but then the corners of her mouth quirked into a smile and she leaned forward a little, listening.

“It was when Rickon was born,” Bran explained.

That caught Rickon’s attention. His eyes widened and he sat very still. Rickon was rarely still.

“What did he say?”

“He gave thanks to the gods,” Bran whispered, remembering. “He thanked the gods for blessing him with all of us.”

Sansa’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. Arya rubbed at hers too.

“It is good that he was happy,” Arya said.

Bran took a breath.

“He wanted us to be happy too. He wanted us to grow strong and have peace.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed, just for a moment and he knew she remembered something unpleasant. Then she took Bran’s hand.

“We are strong.”

Sansa nodded.

“We have peace now.”

Rickon smiled.

“We found a way to be happy, together.”

Nobody argued with him. Nothing would ever be the same. All of them were changed by the things they had done, the things they had seen.

_We have found some measure of happiness._

It wasn’t quite what Father wanted for them but it was enough.


	8. Arya and Bran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: a reunion between Arya and Bran

Bran blinked his eyes as he emerged from the cave. The light blinded him after so long in darkness. A figure moved and he tensed, clinging to Hodor, vulnerable because the ravens were too far away to be his eyes. He thought of Summer, reaching for the direwolf with his mind but then the scene came into focus.

“Arya?”

He blinked again, unsure. He had thought he had seen her so many times. There had been Leaf, then his Aunt Lyanna through the weirwood. Sometimes he even confused Meera with his sister when he had been too long watching through the trees. This girl looked like Lyanna, like his sister, older. Then he saw the direwolf by her side, Nymeria, and his eyes filled with tears.

“Arya.”

She darted forward, smiling. Her hair was wild like it always had been, shorter but still untamed. Her dark grey eyes were sad but her smile was real, her long face radiant as she reached for him.

“Bran.”

He blinked the tears away and saw Arya was knuckling away her own with one hand as she touched him, her fingers trailing down his arm tentatively, then Hodor was lowering him and Arya all but jumped on him, hugging him.

“Bran! I knew you couldn’t be dead. I knew they were lying.” She was crying now, quietly and Bran held her, knowing why. “I’ve done things-“ she began to say.

He had seen.

“It doesn’t matter,” he told her. “All that matters is that we are together.”

Arya sniffled.

“The pack survives,” she whispered.

“It will,” he promised.


	9. Arya and Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: I'm sorry

Arya was angry. The Hound was meant to be dead, not telling her secrets to her sister. Sansa didn’t look any happier though, she wanted him quiet too when he started telling tales of Kings Landing and of what Joffrey was like, what he did.

“Liar,” Arya told him.

Except he didn’t lie. She only had to look at Sansa’s face to see he didn’t lie, even if she hadn’t been taught to see the lies. _He told the truth about me too._ Then he just left the two of them, left them sitting together in silence. Arya didn’t know what to say and Sansa wasn’t speaking either.

“He shouldn’t have told you that,” Arya finally said.

“Is it true?” Sansa asked.

Arya didn’t chew her lip, even though she wanted to. She didn’t answer. Sansa wouldn’t understand. Sansa had never understood.

“What did you think happened?” she asked instead.

“I thought you made it back to Winterfell,” Sansa said, a bitter edge in her voice. “After that I thought… I didn’t know.”

_You thought I was dead._

“Mother still sent somebody to look for me,” Arya said, hiding her hurt.

“She sent her to find and return both of us,” Sansa said precisely.

That hurt too, even though she knew it was true. Sansa didn’t need to correct her though, Arya was only saying her mother didn’t give up, that her mother still looked for her, not that her mother only wanted to find one of them. It meant everything to Arya that her mother had still believed in her, still wanted her, no matter what she looked like or what she did.

“I saw you when father died,” she said.

It sounded accusing, even though it wasn’t meant to and Sansa stiffened.

“Joffrey wasn’t supposed to,” Sansa faltered. “I was promised…”

“Joffrey was a liar,” Arya pointed out. “He lied before that.”

Sansa paled and Arya knew she remembered and suddenly she wanted to say sorry, sorry for hurting her sister because no matter what Sansa did before, she didn’t deserve what Joffrey did after and Arya didn’t mean to upset her now, even if Arya was upset herself.

“He was a monster,” she said.

“He was,” Sansa agreed in a small voice.

“There are too many monsters out there,” Arya said forcefully.

Sansa didn’t answer that. She just pressed her lips together and Arya wondered if her sister even wanted her there. She didn’t say anything about what happened to Arya, about what Arya did, even after Sandor told her. She didn’t acknowledge it at all. Arya wondered if she cared, she had thought Arya dead but she didn’t seem happy she was there, not when everything Arya said seemed to offend her.

“I didn’t know,” Sansa finally said.

Arya studied her sister’s expression. It wasn’t much but it was something after all the time she had been back.

 _You didn’t ask_ , she thought but she didn’t say it.

Arya wanted to reply, wanted to match her sister’s attempt. Everything she thought of was wrong. Everything she might have said about Joffrey, about what he was, would only make it worse and anything she wanted to say about the other, about what she heard of Littlefinger would not go well.

“I’m…”

_Sorry._

She didn’t finish it but she reached out and took Sansa’s hand instead, giving it a squeeze. Her sister didn’t pull away, didn’t take note of the callouses and roughened skin and Arya breathed.

She supposed it was a start.


	10. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "I suppose I should be happy to be misread, better that than be some of the other things I have become"

“Kingslayer.”

They spat the name at him. _Kingslayer_. And what a king he was. Jaime recalled saying as much to Catelyn Stark. They reviled him for it, even those who knew what Aerys was.

_So many vows._

He broke one to keep others but all they saw was oathbreaking. It made him bitter. _You break one vow and they assume you’ll break them all._  It was that white cloak, he knew. If not for that cloak…

_I donned it for Cersei._

He had done so many things for Cersei. After Aerys it hardly mattered. Nobody saw him as that youth who fought the Kingswood Brotherhood alongside Arthur Dayne, nobody saw him as the boy who wanted to _be_  Arthur Dayne. 

_Kingslayer._

If they were determined that he must be a monster then why should he try to be anything else? The fingers on his missing sword hand ached. He looked at the golden hand in place of the one he lost. 

_Golden hand the just._

It was a pretty dream but it was just a dream. Faced with the horror of Lady Stoneheart, with reminders of broken vows and the knowledge he would never be seen as anything other than an oathbreaker and criminal he now knew what he preferred given all he had done.

_The things I do for love._

Kingslaying was the least of his crimes. For that he felt no shame. Better to be judged for that, to be judged for his finest act than for what he had become. That man was nothing to be proud of.

_That man truly is an oathbreaker._


	11. Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: You came back

Arya huddled under her cloak. It wasn’t near warm enough but she had nothing else and the fire didn’t want to stay lit. It was the snow, it made the wood damp. It wasn’t the same as when she was in the Riverlands before.

_Nothing is the same as when I was here before._

Her companions were restless. Arya had wanted to travel alone but the hedge knights insisted that the road wasn’t safe. Arya felt for her finger knife in case any thought they would approach her after dark. There was only two of them and it did help her blend in, it raised less suspicion but she was ready if they decided to hurt her. She would show them what she could do if she had to.

Wolves howled in the distance.

“I mislike this,” the elder knight grumbled.

“They’ll stay away from the fire,” the younger one said in a hopeful voice.

“No they won’t,” the old one snapped. “They don’t fear men and the fire is gone.”

They were scared. Arya could see it. Arya wasn’t scared. She almost howled back at the wolves but decided not to. _I am the night wolf_. She felt for her knife again and closed her eyes, knowing she would dream of wolves again.

The wolves were closer the next day. Arya knew it even though she could not say why. She couldn’t hear them but she could almost _feel_ them. Her companions were happier when the sun rose, smiling and singing but they wanted to set a fast pace.

_I want to move fast too._

“Why are you going North?” they asked. “Nothing is good in the North.”

_My home is in the North. Jon is in the North._

She couldn’t say that though. If they knew who she was they would want to ransom her.

“I have work there,” she lied. “Why are you going North?”

“The Vale will give us use of our swords.”

Arya knew the answer before they gave it. The war with the mountain clans was going poorly for the Vale. She expected her companions might die. It made her feel sad.

“You could have work in the North,” she told them.

They only looked at her queerly.

The snow made them slow. The horses struggled. Even though the snow on the Kingsroad was brown with mud from other travellers and had been dispersed a little it was still slippery. They didn’t make it anywhere near as far as the knights wanted. They were tired and hungry and sick of not having a roof. Arya cared about that too, but she cared less.

_There are worse things._

They managed to light a fire this time and keep it lit. As the sky blackened Arya heard the howling begin again. She saw the knights shake their heads.

“We should have kept going, better that than be prey for the wolves.”

Arya sat up after a short while, alert as the men both tensed. She could see the eyes glowing in the light of the fire. It began with just a few and she heard a sword being loosened in its scabbard.

“Don’t,” she hissed. “Don’t hurt them.”

They thought her to be mad, she knew. The few soon became dozens, a pack. Arya stood, ignoring protests. One pair of eyes came closer, the rest of the animal taking shape and the protests turned to curses and prayers. The wolf was enormous, the size of a pony.

_A direwolf._

Arya’s pulse quickened, not with fear but excitement. She was nervous too, nervous about the knights and what they might do, nervous about the other wolves but not the direwolf. Familiar dark golden eyes were fixed on her as the wolf approached, slowly, almost uncertainly. Her pack tried to approach too but the she-wolf bared her teeth, snapping at them, driving them back and they obeyed.

“Nymeria.”

She said it sharply, a command. Arya had trained her once, long ago. The direwolf used to listen to her.

“To me,” she called.

_I won’t hurt you again. I didn’t want to last time. I just did not want you to die._

Nymeria loped forward, all hesitation gone and Arya grinned, her heart beating even faster now and she felt happy, really happy for the first time in a long time. She spared a glance at the knights. They had retreated, swords in hand and were watching with huge, terrified eyes. She put her back to them again, extending a hand as Nymeria sniffed her.

“You came back,” she whispered.

Nymeria whined and Arya moved closer, ruffling the thick grey fur. Tears gathered in her eyes and she closed them but she could still see. She could see the fire burning, the terrified men, the pack but also herself.

_The dreams are not dreams._

She had known it somehow deep in her heart of hearts but now it was certain. The knowledge made her feel stronger. The fear she buried inside her melted away.

_I am a wolf and it is time for me to go home._


	12. Arya and Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: you don't need to protect me

Jon found Arya standing on top of the Wall. She was looking to the North, the wind whipping her dark hair around her face. He had been so glad to see her again, so glad to have her hurl herself at him as though no time had passed. She had covered him in kisses right there in the yard.

It only made what he had to do so much harder.

“Arya,“ he began.

She whirled to face him, a smile on her long face. She blinked quickly and Jon knew the cold, cold wind would be stinging her eyes. She opened them wide and he could see the dark grey in the torchlight.

_Stark eyes like mine, even if I am no Stark._

“Don’t,” she told him abruptly, her smile disappearing.

“Arya,” he said more forcefully.

“Don’t send me away,” she said fiercely.

“The Wall is not safe for you,” he told her gently. “Braavos will be better, warmer.”

She gave him a queer look and did not speak. She did not need to speak for Jon to know she was going to oppose him. He needed to make her see, he needed to make her understand that he could not keep her with him, no matter how much he wanted to.

_It is all I want in the world little sister._

“I don’t need you to protect me,” she said determinedly. “I won’t leave.”

“I can make certain you go if I must,” he warned her.

Arya smiled at him again then, a smile which made his heart ache.

“You can try,” she said sweetly. “I found my way here once, I’ll make it back again.”

“You don’t understand,” he tried to say.

“ _You_ don’t understand,” she said, striding towards him with purpose. She jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “You are stuck with me. You best get used to it.”

Jon could not help a smile, even though he was more afraid than he could say.

“We are not playing games little sister,” he told her. “This is war.”

“I know that,” she replied stubbornly. “I can fight.”

“You’ll need to,” he said tiredly.

She smiled at him then and reached up to mess his hair, much as he used to do to her. She had grown so much.

“You need me,” she said. “I’ll help keep you safe. Nobody will hurt you again while I am here.”

For a heartbeat he wanted to laugh but there was something in her expression, something he had not seen before. She turned to look North again and he realised she was watching, scouring the tree line. She did not make a sound and when he looked down she had left no footprint either.

_Something has happened to my little sister._

“Come with me into the warm,” he urged her. “Others can keep watch.”

“Later,” she said, almost absently. When he didn’t move she half turned and reached out to give him a little push. “Go and rest Jon, I’ll be there soon.”

He didn’t want to leave her but he had the distinct sense she did not need him, not right then. It reminded him of something and he was suddenly flooded with memories.

_You know nothing Jon Snow._

He would learn though, just as he had before.

“Don’t be long,” he said.

She was still watching the North.

“I won’t,” she said. “I missed you too much to leave you for long.”

He moved closer again, putting his arm around her. She leaned into him, looking up at him again. Her fond expression made him smile. Arya had always had the power to make him smile, she was the only thing that could make him smile these days.

“I missed you too little sister.”


	13. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: somebody giving Sansa flowers

Sansa sat in the Great Hall, looking down at her hands. Bran was holding one of his councils again. She dreaded it in a way. After the war she should have felt free but she didn’t and she now had suitors, each with an ulterior motive and each bringing their petition to her brother.

_None of them love me._

The hall emptied and Sansa stepped outside. The sunshine on her face felt as good as a kiss. She heard laughter and it made her smile.

_Peace is as good as love._

She wasn’t lonely. There were too many people to be lonely. She had friends and she was home. The light snows felt like summer, even if it was spring. She walked quickly along the path, headed to one of her favourite places, a place which helped keep them alive in winter when the dead things and worse had them trapped.

It was even hotter in the glass gardens. She walked between the rows of plants, looking at the flowers. She stopped by the blue winter roses and remembered when she was given a rose, the red rose from Ser Loras. The memory was tainted now that she understood why. She had been so happy.

“Sansa.”

Sansa turned to see Bran approaching with Hodor. He was smiling and clutching yellow flowers in his hand.

“I have these for you.”

The stable boy was so tall but Bran reached down and Sansa reached up and the flowers were in her grasp with little difficulty. Tears sprang to her eyes as she lifted them to her nose.

“Don’t cry,” Bran said in a worried voice. “I gave them to make you happy. You looked so sad in the hall.”

Sansa smiled, then she laughed.

“I am happy. You did well.”

He looked so pleased. She inhaled the scent of them again. They were better than a hundred roses because they were given with love. Bran did not give them as part of a mummers show. He did not give them because he wanted something. He gave them simply because she was his sister and he cared.

_I am loved._

That, she decided, was enough.


	14. Bran and Shireen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: open prompt for a Bran and Shireen ficlet

He does not think to meet anybody here, least of all a girl. The tunnels are dark and deserted and they are below the Nightfort. For a moment Bran commands that they stop, thinking of Old Nan’s stories. This girl might not just be a girl, after all.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, trying to sound like a lord, trying to sound like a man, like his father.

In the torchlight he sees her lift her face. It is streaked with tears.

“I’m the only one left. They killed the rest. I’m the only one, only because of the tunnel.”

Bran still does not know whether it is some trick but then Summer darts forward and the girl does not shy away. She is frightened, yes but the direwolf is not strange to her, that is clear.

“You’ve seen a direwolf before.”

She nods, lower lip trembling.

“A white one, at Castle Black.”

Summer sniffs at her and the girl is very still. Bran decides it, then and there.

“Come with us. We will take care of you.”

Her eyes are wide and the light hits her cheek to show mottled scarring. Bran tries not to stare. He has seen much worse.”

“Truly?” she sounds wary.

“Truly,” Bran promises.


	15. Bran

Bran closed his eyes and his home appeared before him once again. Lord Eddard Stark was sitting upon the same rock by the pool in the godswood, a sight Bran had seen before. This time however Lord Eddard was not alone.

“Ned,” a familiar voice called softly.

“ _Mother_ ,” Bran whispered.

She was looking at the tree, at Bran, and for a moment he thought she knew. She didn’t though, the look on her face told him she didn’t. His mother would never look at him like that. He ached to have her speak with him, to kiss him as she had back before he was broken. Instead she turned to Lord Eddard.

“Where are the children?” his father asked.

Bran paid little attention to the answer. He was too intent on watching his mother. She spread her cloak on the ground and he drank in every detail of her until she cast another strained glance at him and sat, putting her back to Bran. Bran felt his eyes fill with tears.

_She does not know me._

How could she though? Bran knew he was being stupid but he missed her, missed her so much it hurt. He would never see her again, he knew that. This was all he had.

“I was glad for Bran’s sake,” Lord Eddard was saying. “You would have been proud of Bran.”

Bran’s breath caught in his throat.

“I am always proud of Bran,” his lady mother replied.

His throat constricted. He knew this time, knew what events they spoke of now. He wanted to warn them, to tell them not to go south but he knew it would do no good. He tried to stay with them but he couldn’t. The scene dissolved and Bran was alone again, alone in the dark.

 _I am always proud of Bran_ , his mother had said.

Would she be proud of him now? He was so afraid.

_The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid._

He kept his father’s words with him and drew on them for strength in these dark days. Bran closed his eyes and heard his mother say it once more.

_I will be brave. I will give her reason to be proud._


	16. Jon and Arya

Jon found her sitting in the godswood, her knees drawn up to her chest even though it stretched the material of her gown and made it dirty. She’d be in even _more_  trouble. It wasn’t fair.

“I don’t want to do needlework on my name day,” she said, biting her lip.

Jon sat down beside her and sighed.

“I know little sister. What _do_  you want?”

Arya lowered her eyes. “You know what I want.”

He went quiet for a long while. Then he got up and left her. Arya watched him leave, feeling as though she might cry. Jon wasn’t supposed to leave her. He was supposed to understand. It was meant to be the two of them, the two who looked like one another and shared a special bond because neither of them fit. She ground out tears with her fists.

“Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”

Arya lifted her head and broke into a smile. Jon had a bow in his hand and a quiver of arrows over his shoulder.

“It isn’t a sword but will it do?”

Arya scrambled to her feet and ran to him, stopping just short and touching the bow hesitantly.

“You’ll teach me?” she asked shyly.

“We won’t get long,” Jon warned.

Arya didn’t care. She threw her arms around him and covered him in kisses and he laughed.

Her name day was turning out to be a good day after all.


	17. Arya and Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: “Do you remember when we forgot how to smile at one another, to believe that the other only wants what's good for you”

Arya sat a little distance from her sister. Sansa did not look at her, clearly still angry. Arya was angry too. It wasn’t fair. None of it was. One little remark and it was as though they were children again.

 _You need her, as she needs you_. Her father’s words came back to her.

Sansa might need her but Arya wasn’t sure Sansa _wanted_ her. Arya didn’t know if she needed her sister either, even if she had thought she wanted… she did not know what she wanted. It all felt different now they were together again, it was all confused again and Arya hurt again.

_The same blood flows through both your hearts._

That much was true. That was why they were together still, despite the arguments. Arya tried to think back to when they were small. It seemed so very long ago. Her father had told them to behave like sisters. There _were_ memories, very old memories of Sansa laughing with Arya, of Sansa helping Arya or Arya helping Sansa.

_We didn’t always used to argue._

She wondered when she forgot that. She wondered if Sansa would ever remember.


	18. Jon and Aegon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: I didn't know you could sing

Jon climbed the steps, listening to somebody singing _The Dornishman’s wife_ in perfect tone and pitch. The door was ajar when he reached the solar and the music stopped when he entered. Aegon grinned at him, pushing silvery gold hair from his eyes.

 _I should have guessed by the choice of song_.

“I did not know you could sing,” he said evenly.

Aegon took it for a compliment.

“I had to inherit something from father.”

Jon was astounded. “You have his look.”

_You have everything._

Aegon shrugged. “Perhaps. Lord Connington does not remark upon it. He takes great pains to tell of how much you remind him of father.” He cocked his head. “You seem to have perfected that brooding, wounded look he was known for.”

Aegon sounded envious. Jon wanted to take him down to the practice yard and beat some sense into him but that likely wouldn’t end well. Aegon always bested him.

“I do not brood,” he protested.

“Prove it,” Aegon gestured to his companion and the man passed a harp to Aegon who thrust it in Jon’s direction. “Play while I sing.”

Jon looked at the harp and then at Aegon.

“What makes you think I can?”

Aegon snorted. “I saw you. Don’t be modest.” He held up a hand and frowned at his fingers. “I tried, I do not have the gift. Tell me again how you are your mother’s son?”

Jon wanted to refuse him but there was something vulnerable in his half brother’s gaze, something he had not seen before but knew too well. The pressure to live up to an ideal. He took the harp and sat.

“Mayhaps for a little while, just to stop you complaining.”

Aegon grinned broadly even though he made a point of not looking at that harp from that moment on.

“That is the spirit.”


	19. Arya and Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three sentence fic prompt: Arya and Sansa talking about the perfect clothes/dress

Sansa’s eyes were shining and her smile was brilliant. “It will be splendid, you’ll see, in Kings Landing they have gowns with Myrish lace and the finest silks, they will be so pretty you won’t want to wear those riding leathers.”

Arya bit her lip, picturing the beautiful gowns and shaking her head. “I won’t be able to run or ride in a gown like that, I can run in my leathers.”


	20. Arya and Catelyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Arya makes it to Riverrun in time (no Red Wedding)

Arya is uncertain when she is led into Riverrun. Everybody is calling her “my lady” but she knows she doesn’t look like a lady. Septa Mordane said she was bad before, the septa would be horrified to see her now and her mother wanted her to be a proper lady but she wasn’t, even when she tried.

A door opens and Arya bites her lip, worried but at the same time desperate to see Lady Catelyn. She hears her before she sees her, a loud cry and her mother is running toward her, embracing her, her tears damp on Arya’s collar as she crouches and holds her as though she’ll never let go.

“I’m sorry-” she starts to say but her mother won’t let her speak.

“I knew you couldn’t be dead,” Lady Catelyn says. “Not my Arya.”

Her voice is thick with grief and Arya’s eyes fill with tears thinking of her father.

“Father said I have the wolf blood,” she says, sniffling. “I promised him I’d be strong.”

She doesn’t say anything about Harrenhal. She couldn’t, not to her mother. She isn’t worried any more, clearly her mother still wants her but there are some things she can’t tell. She might have been able to tell father but her father is dead. 

Lady Catelyn lets go of her, moving to look into her face. Her mother is smiling through her tears.

“We’ll both be strong together,” she says, her voice trembling a little.

“Like Robb,” Arya says.

Her mother nods, but her smile fades a little and she looks a little sadder again.

“Like Robb,” she agrees.


	21. Arya and Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow on from previous ficlet in the same AU where Arya makes it to Riverrun in time

Robb scarcely believes it when he hears the report. He has been away, and is only now returning to Riverrun. _Arya is alive_. He had lost all hope. He tries to be patient with the men, to be kingly as he makes his own reports and gives his orders but all he wants is to call a close and go to his sister.

_I want to be a brother just for a little. It is so exhausting being a king._

She is with their lady mother when he finds them and Lady Catelyn is smiling in a way Robb has not seen her smile in moons. Arya stands when she sees him, a little uncertain.

“You’re a king now,” she says.

She looks a little awkward as she tries to curtsey and Robb laughs and sweeps her up in a hug, not caring if she sees his tears because he thought her dead and it is so sweet to be wrong.

“I’ll have none of that sweet sister,” he tells her. “They may have made me a king but I’m still your brother.”

She is pressing kisses to his cheeks and Robb sees she is crying. He lets her go.

“The brotherhood wanted a ransom,” she sniffles. “Did you pay?”

She sounds doubtful. Her hands go to her hair. It is untidy, even as she tries to smooth it.

“I paid,” he assured her. “I would have paid thrice what they asked.”

The guilt nags at him when he looks at their mother, remembering what she said to him not long ago. _The girls were always important._ He would have traded for them if he could, if his men would have allowed.

“I am sorry I could not bring you home sooner,” he says.

Arya shakes her head and looks up at him with shining eyes, as though he is some kind of hero.

“You’ve been very brave,” she says. “You’ll win the battles and then we’ll go home.”

He wishes he had her confidence but he gives her one last hug and hopes that she is right.


End file.
